


Cautious Love Letters

by GrannyBoo



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmates, Soulmates- Notebooks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 04:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17821907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrannyBoo/pseuds/GrannyBoo
Summary: A quick AU fill for my Widofjord valentine, Maxson. Glad you enjoyed it. <3An AU where soulmates get a notebook through which they can communicate with their soulmate.





	Cautious Love Letters

**_ Cautious Love Letters _ **

When Fjord was eighteen, a little notebook appeared in his hammock one morning onboard the Tide’s Breath, jabbing him in the back and bringing him to consciousness. It took him a few moments to reconcile the magically appearing notebook that felt as though it hummed in his hands and the thing he’d once heard his captain talk about briefly during a quiet watch together.

A notebook he and his soulmate could communicate through.

He felt a warmth in his chest at the prospect of reading the first words his soulmate would write to him, the bright anticipation doused like a bucket of ice-cold water onto whatever small ember of excitement he’d cultivated at the sight of the first page.

Scrawled in black charcoal, the words:

**_MEIN FEHLER_ **

**_ES TUT MIR LEID_ **

**_BLEIG WEG_ **

 

It’s scribbled into the few dozen or so pages, varying sizes, thickness, some just a light drag of the charcoal over the page and some dug so harshly into the parchment that it tore the page. It looks like the scribblings of a madman, his fears confirmed when he decided to bring the notebook to Vandren, hesitantly asking him if he could recognise the language.

The man spoke a fair few, or at least bits and pieces of a number of them. Apparently enough to recognise the words scrawled into the pages.

_My Fault._

_I am sorry._

_Stay away._

That is what Vandren told him it said, a look of pity on his face as he handed the leather bound notebook back to Fjord. He placed his hand on Fjord’s shoulder, a strained smile on his lips, pained but encouraging.

“Seems to me they need a kind heart tied to theirs. So, work on being the kind of person they deserve, yeah kiddo?”

Fjord tried. He did good, he tried to be kind, to be a steady personality his soulmate could rely on, all while seeing more and more of those notes appearing in the book as the days went by.

He tried writing in the book once. ‘It’ll be okay’.

The book remained the same for a few days before, in a splash of vivid red, the words _‘stay away’_ appeared in common. Fjord didn’t write in the book again and neither did they. But he held onto the book, checking it almost religiously, every morning before he went out onto the deck, and every night before he went to sleep.

The book stays with him, unchanged, for nearly a decade.

He was 25 when the first new words appeared in the pages. Hesitant, small script in black charcoal.

_Hello._

Fjord stared at the single word, brain still warming up as the boat rocked beneath him. A few of the crew glanced at him as they made their way out for their shift. Fjord heard the door close with a click and suddenly he was scrambling for a quill, digging through his rucksack and finding his writing supplies.

A drop of ink fell onto the page as the pen hovered over the parchment, staining the off-white with slinking black tendril that blurred into a dot. What should he say? Seven years of silence from his soul mate, of the refusal to talk and only the agonised ramblings of what had to be a guilt-ridden person on the verge or fully submerged in madness. Now, this one clear word. No one can write in another person’s notebook, it is physically impossible, so it had to be them, reaching out. He needed to reach back.

**_Hi_ **

As soon as the single word was inked on the page, he screamed into his pillow. Maybe they hadn’t seen it, he could scribble it out and try ag-

_I was afraid I had scared you away permanently._

Fjord scrubbed his hands over his face, dropping out of his hammock and pacing back and forth as he tried to figure out what to say in reply.

 ** _I wanted to give you whatever time you needed_**.

The words are barely dry when another reply is scribbled in slowly, a cautious pause between words.

_It has been years._

**_If that’s what you needed, that’s fine._ **

The door clicks open again and Fjord, sitting on the floor in front of the book, fingers linked behind his neck and heart rabbiting in his chest, snaps his focus to the intruder, seeing Vandren with a stern and confused expression.

“You’re late, kiddo,” he chides, pausing when he sees the frazzled appearance of his ward. “What’s wrong?”

Fjord points at the notebook in front of him, new words appearing, still cautious. Vandren’s eyes soften and he sighs.

“You got ten minutes. You waited long enough for them, I’m sure they can wait ‘til end of shift,” Vandren instructed and Fjord nodded, letting out a quiet ‘thank you’.

-

\--

-

Fjord found out some things about his soul mate over the next few years. The man (and he did confirm he was a man) disclosed bits and pieces of information, very little about the time leading up to their first proper interaction but at the very least, a vague description and a name.

Bren. Bren was 28 years old, red-brown hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. He didn’t tell him his last name and didn’t press Fjord for information that Fjord wasn’t willing to give, but Fjord was perfectly willing to tell him whatever he’d asked.

Bren knew most of Fjord’s life leading up until he’d been taken in by Vandren within the first few weeks of their communication. Fjord knew a first name, a general appearance, and that his soul mate lives within the empire.

It takes some time, but eventually Bren started to open up to Fjord, one night, in an apparent fit of liquid courage fuelled honesty as he’d later found out, told him Fjord should run while he has the chance. To throw the book into the ocean.

Fjord had asked why, and Bren had told him.

The book never left Fjord’s hands.

-

\--

-

Years passed and Fjord learns bits and pieces about Bren’s life, now going by Caleb Widogast as of his new alliance with a goblin girl named Nott the Brave. He was travelling south, as far from Rexxuntrum as possible while the Tide’s Breath made its way closer to the coast, ready for land after nearly a year at sea.

 _I have never been to the sea. I have always lived too far inland_.

**_Well I suppose I’ll have to rectify that. We can make a date of it_.**

Bren had definitely been flustered by that, starting replies to it before hurriedly scribbling them out, finally settling on a short _‘Sap’_ while Fjord, albeit terribly, sketched out a picture of the island coastline they passed by. Pictures were a new thing, the pair of them were by no means artists but it helped pass the time as they drew closer and closer together. No real plans to meet but Fjord had made it clear he still wished to see Bren face to face, regardless of the low opinion Bren had for himself.

Fjord had wished him goodnight before bed as he always had.

And he had drowned before the sun rose with the muffled echo of explosions over the water, and the final thought on his mind that he’d never gotten to meet Bren. It was a surprise when he’d awoken on a beach, seawater in his throat, a falchion in his hand, and a quiet, ominous hum in his head.

-

\--

-

_We have stopped in a town to rest for a time. Frumpkin will need to be summoned again after the window incident._

**_I’m glad you got out of that safely. What town are you staying in?_ **

Fjord scratches his reply while Beau and Jester discuss where to go for dinner and rest, their own mission to take down a giant snake the day before leaving them with a decent amount of coin between the three of them, enough for them to enjoy the relative luxuries the town of Trostenwald had to offer. He’d been concerned when he’d learned that Bren and Nott had been in danger and was more than relieved that the pair had escaped even if it meant that Bren had lost his cat facsimile. There’s a hesitation in Bren’s reply, before he watched the flowing script appear in ink.

_Trostenwald._

Fjord feels his heart skip a beat in his chest. He hadn’t told Bren where he, Beau, and Jester were.

**_Where are you staying?_ **

His reply was hurried, eyes darting around at the buildings.

 _The Old Mud Hole Tavern. Charming name, I know_. _Why?_

“Fjord! Where are you goi- Dude!” Beau’s voice called out behind him. She could catch up, she’s much faster than he was and he wasn’t going far. He remembered the building, its rustic exterior and the minimal seating within, figuring Bren would sit in the back corner, back to the wall and observing the rest of the tavern. The door came into view and he couldn’t help the pang of anxiety that rose up in his chest. Would Bren be angry? Would he think he’d done this on purpose? Would he just turn Fjord away?

“Dude, what the fuck?” Beau called as she approached, glancing between the door and the open notebook in his hand. “…Holy shit. Is he-?” she gestured towards the door of the tavern. Fjord let out a deep breath and looked back in his notebook once more.

_Fjord?_

“Are you gonna just stand out here?! Go in!” Jester chirped, opening the door and shoving Fjord inside. He squawked in surprise, righting himself quickly and looking around the bar. Two or three patrons sitting alone, around the tables or at the bar itself, two more sitting in the corner, where he’d imagined Bren would sit. A man, red-brown hair, face dirty with pale skin underneath, neck wrapped up in a grey scarf that rest over the collar of a fleece lined brown coat. The man looked up at the door from a small notebook, a quill poised over it.

Even across the room, Fjord could tell, his eyes are blue.

Fjord wrote in his own book.

 ** _Bren_**?

The man looked down and his eyes widened. He looked back up.

“Fjord?”

Fjord wasn’t sure what he’d imagined Bren’s voice as sounding like but it didn’t sound like the quiet, accented voice he heard. He made his way over, Jester and Beau following after observing the meeting, one of them tearing up and humming a wedding march tune obnoxiously while Beau tried to get her to hush. The smaller companion beside Bren murmured to him and he quickly whispered something in reply, not taking his eyes off Fjord even as the half-orc sat down across from them.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Bren said, voice wavering a little and Fjord would be worried if he couldn’t see the small upward quirk of the man’s lips. Fjord gave him a wide smile in return.

“Yeah. Fancy that.”


End file.
